


that sounds like my luck (i get the short end of it)

by caelzorah



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, ghost hunters au, losers with cameras mostly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 14:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3772303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caelzorah/pseuds/caelzorah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘I was an <em>art major,’</em> Clarke hisses. ‘How did this happen to me?’</p><p>aka</p><p>a clarklexa ghost hunters AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	that sounds like my luck (i get the short end of it)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [simonsaysfunction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/simonsaysfunction/gifts).



> Find me on [tumblr](http://caelzorah.tumblr.com) if you want to trade headcanons on this ridiculous universe because I suddenly have a lot of them.

‘I was an  _art major_ ,’ Clarke hisses. ‘How did this happen to me?’

Lexa vaults over the back of the couch and flops down to the ground beside her, barely in time to avoid the ceramic vase that sails through the air after her. It smashes against the wall, shards bouncing back at them from the peeling paint. Clarke jerks her face away from the spray of shattered china; Lexa closes her eyes wanly and brushes the fragments away from where they land in her hair.

‘If I remember correctly,’ she grumbles, ‘ _you_  brought a cursed necklace back to our dorm room - and the floppy-haired ghoul that came with it.’ 

 _Ah, yes_ , Clarke thinks.  _College. A simpler time._

‘It’s not like I invited him in,’ she tells Lexa idly, wincing as an old photo frame flies over their heads. It thuds into the wall, accompanied by the sound of cracking glass, and when it falls to the floor it leaves a rather significant dent in the plaster. Lexa scoffs, vapor forming with the exhalation.

‘Clarke, you started watching crappy romance movies on Netflix with it, left it handwritten jokes on the desk between classes, and hired a medium purely so you could learn it’s name. You mightn’t have held the door open and curtsied your welcome, but you certainly didn’t ask the damned thing to leave,’ the brunette grumbles. There is a DSLR camera hanging on a strap around her neck, and she hits idly at the playback button to flick through her photos. A book shoots through the air over their heads; Lexa doesn’t even flinch. ‘Every time you went out for coffee with Raven it would throw an electromagnetic hissy fit and blow out all the light globes in the room. I started premeditatively stocking glowsticks in my bedside table because it liked to blow out my candles just for shits and giggles.’

Clarke snorts and scrambles for the phone in her pocket, hoping she has enough reception to shoot their team a “we-have-been-trapped-behind-a-dirty-couch-on-the-fourth-floor-please-bring-salt-and-scriptures-ASAP” text and heaving a short sigh when she finds that she very much does  _not_. It’s hardly shocking - haunted manors in towns that may as well be called “Fucking Nowhere” for all that they mean on a map don’t tend to have great coverage.

‘You’re making the whole ordeal sound far, far worse than it actually was,’ Clarke declares, locking her phone and shoving it back into her jacket. ‘Compared to the things we’ve seen since, Finn was nice.’

‘He kept manifesting between our beds at night to watch you sleep,’ Lexa points out dryly.

‘While that was, admittedly, kind of creepy - he was still essentially harmless.’

‘I asked you out for dinner one time and he tried to drown me in the showers.’

‘So  _that’s_ why you snapped and called an exorcist.’

A glass sculpture soars over the couch, chiming as it falls apart and scatters on the floorboards. She fidgets at the sound, and Lexa reaches out to take her hand without her eyes ever leaving the playback screen. The breeze picks up, and Clarke shudders and inches closer.

Their fingers intertwine, and Clarke shrinks against the back of the couch when an empty candelabrum shoots by them, further cracking the plaster of the wall they’re facing on impact.

‘Okay,’ she admits after a long moment, though with no small amount of exasperation. ‘So he was a highly possessive stalker of a ghost. And I may have -  _entirely by accident_  - brought him into our sophomore home. That doesn’t explain how we ended up  _here_.’

Lexa sighs and turns the camera to her. She flips through several shots of the room that their dusty couch barrier is hiding them from, and every one of them is unnaturally warped with shadow.

‘Well, there’s definitely something else in here,’ the brunette announces.

Five candles follow their holder over the back of the couch, wax sticks thwacking against the plaster before dropping to join the pile of makeshift projectiles quickly growing beside the skirting board. 

‘Really?’ Clarke asks flatly. ‘You needed a photo for that?’

Lexa elbows her none too gently and switches the camera off.

‘Rude. But I mean, if you’re really wondering,’ the brunette starts conversationally while the spirit across the room launches an entire drawer of tarnished silver cutlery in their direction, piece by piece, ‘us being in this situation is, once again, entirely your fault.’

Clarke parts her lips to protest before a steak knife thuds into the wall, point first, and stays there - dug in almost to the handle. They both eye it warily.

After a long moment, Lexa grumbles.

‘“Think of all the lost souls, Lexa”,’ she says - and it’s an admittedly terrible impersonation, but Clarke almost wants to laugh. ‘You tried to capitalise on my sense of empathy and my moral stature and followed it up with something roughly along the lines of “Let’s all quit our degrees and go hunt ghosts in the middle of fucking nowhere for ridiculously inconsistent pay rates instead, I’m sure it will be just  _swell!”_ \- though you must have been far more eloquent, since I rather moronically agreed.’

‘Nah,’ Clarke tells her, ‘I asked when you were half asleep and stuck it to you in the morning.’

‘You would,’ Lexa says. ‘You’re ridiculous. Why am I in love with you?’

‘Something to do with the sense of adventure I supply, I would imagine,’ Clarke replies off-handedly, crouching and turning to face the back of the couch instead of the wall, readying herself to look over the top - not that she’s sure she’d  _see_  anything, necessarily. God damned ghosts. ‘Do you think it’s out of knives yet?’

‘Not sure. Why don’t you check?’

‘Think I should risk marring my pretty face?’

‘No great loss. You have other equally pleasing qualities,’ Lexa tells her lightly, yanking her back down by their linked hands only a fraction of a second before a wooden chair shoots past overhead, shattering completely against the wall and taking a huge chunk of the plaster down with it. Lexa scowls at the fractured wood and says, ‘Well, I think it’s out of knives.’

‘This thing is more violent than that possessed kid in Ohio,’ Clarke remarks after a moment, huffing out vapour and shivering in the cold. 

‘Not half as smart though,’ Lexa tells her dryly. The entity launches four more photo frames into the wall above them as if in answer - offended, maybe, but only proving her point. ‘Why are your friends never here when we actually  _need_ them?’

As if on cue, their ears meet the sound of a door slamming open. Despite Lexa’s insistent tug at her hand, Clarke pushes herself up to peek over the couch. Opposite her, framed by the doorway, is a heavily smirking Raven Reyes with an idly frowning Octavia Blake at her side - ignoring them all to focus on the spirit, as per usual, probably hoping to handle it peacefully despite the damage that has already been done.

‘You good?’ Raven calls, bearing a smudging stick instead of her usual sound equipment - and despite her bravado and the hefty amount of amusement that she is clearly finding in the situation, there is a familiar hint of concern in her tone. Clarke shoots her a thumbs up and ducks back beneath the cover of the couch when an old vinyl record comes spinning at her face like a ninja star out of the open air.

‘We’re fine!’ Lexa shouts back. ‘Just deal with the damn thing, would you? Preferably before it starts assessing angles and realises it’s throwing from the wrong one.’

‘We send you two in to look for a ghost and you end up immediately pissing it off,’ the engineer laughs. ‘You weren’t even supposed to make contact. But of course. How does this happen  _every time?_ ’

‘It’s Lexa’s charming personality,’ Clarke says. ‘She’s always been terrible at first impressions.’

She earns an unapologetic elbow to the ribs.

‘Don’t blame me,’ Lexa drawls. ‘It’s not  _my_  fault you’re a ghost magnet.’

‘Oh, shut up, all of you,’ Octavia tells them, irritated, and they all hush to let the woman work. ‘Let me get my groove on and try to calm this thing down. Once again, next time,  _please_  try not to anger the incorporeal spirit before I can contact the damned thing. Useless, the lot of you.’

Behind the couch, Clarke muffles her laughter.


End file.
